Heikel

I don’t really know why I gravitated to the old, dilapidated trunk that afternoon while wandering amidst the many vendors’ galleries at the antique store, but I did. It was as though I was compelled, drawn to it for reasons unknown. I remember running my fingers over it, feeling the raised ridges of peeling paint as I gingerly lifting the faded, damaged lid. From what I could see, it held an assortment of old clothing, costume jewelry, books, and other personal items. It was an intriguing mix of unknown treasures, and I was sure there'd be something within worth at least the asking price of $28.00. Unable to do otherwise, I'd quickly rummaged through my purse for the money. I didn’t have much extra money but instinct told me my purchase would not be in vain. It as though the old box had called my name, urging me to claim it as my own.

Once home, I left the old trunk in the foyer and then went to put the kettle on for a cup of tea. It was a cold, rainy day, and I was chilled. Though I was anxious to go through the trunk I’d just purchased, I headed to my room and changed into something comfortable while my tea steeped. Within moments, I was back in the foyer and dragged the old trunk to the side of the sofa, eager to see just what I'd bought for $28.00.

I took a seat on the sofa and slowly lifted the trunk’s lid, childlike anticipation filling me. For long moments, I simply stared at the array of items that had quite obviously inhabited the trunk for a long while. As I reached to lift a pair of yellowed, silk evening gloves that lay atop everything else, small particles of dust rose in the air. Interestingly enough, no smell of mildew or other age related odors was present. Instead, the faintest scent of flowers - maybe lavender - drifted across the air, permeating the entire room. It was magical.

Intrigued, I continued to peruse the trunk’s contents, more curious than ever. Nestled within, I found several pieces of feminine clothing, including shoes, a silver comb and brush set, and an array of costume jewelry I was sure had been lovely in the early 1900's, but had long since lost its sparkle and shine. Beneath a small feathered hat, I found a single crystal champagne glass that was intricately etched with detailed, small flowers – perhaps a piece of Bavarian or Austrian crystal. The glass was beautiful, and I knew this item alone had been worth my investment. I had to wonder, however, if there was only one glass and not a pair but surmised the glass must have held some sentimental value for the person who had once owned it. Looking further, I lifted an old copy of The Beautiful and Damned by F. Scott Fitzgerald from the bottom of the trunk. As I did so, I spied a single roll of film nestled in the corner that had been hidden by the book. It appeared to be a roll from one of the older cameras, like the Kodak Brownie. I held it up to the light, wondering what stories its pictures could tell. Curious, I determined I would take the film to the local camera shop the next day, hopeful they'd be able to develop the film despite its age.

It was growing late, so I returned all the things I’d discovered to the trunk, with the exception of the crystal champagne glass and roll of film. For whatever reason, the beautiful, delicately etched glass fascinated me. I couldn't help but wonder who had drunk from it in days gone by. Carefully, I proudly gave the pretty little glass a place in the front of my China cabinet where one could easily admire its beauty, and the roll of film I set beside my keys on the foyer table so that I could take it to the shop the following day. Not much longer, following a light supper, I headed to bed, but not before stopping to admire the champagne glass again. As I studied it, I briefly wondered who had drunk from its delicate rim all those many years before. Had they worn the evening gloves I’d found in the trunk as well? And had they danced or swayed to some lovely 1920’s song with their sweetheart back in the day? My mind touched on all the many possible secrets and stories the glass could tell if it could but speak, just like the undeveloped roll of film. What I wouldn’t give to know more about its owner and why the glass had been stored away like a piece of pirate's treasure.

I drifted off to sleep quickly that night, the pitter patter sound of the rain creating a lovely lullaby. As I slept, visions of what I’d uncovered in the old trunk flitted in and out of my dreams, but most particularly, visions of the little champagne glass. It appeared I was as fascinated in my dreams with the crystal coupe glass as I had been while awake. I tossed and turned amidst the dreams, but always the images seemed to resort back to the beautifully etched glass - it nearly seemed magical as it invaded my slumber. At one point in my dream, my attention was drawn to page in a book that rested just alongside the little glass; only one word appeared on the page, it’s pronunciation clearly denoted, and that word was “heikel” - a word completely foreign to me. I seemed to instinctively know it was German in origin and referred to the crystal glass.

I awoke very early the next morning as the sun rose in the sky. My dreams from the previous night remained vivid. I immediately began to search for the meaning of the word I had seen in my dream, “heikel”. I was stunned to learn that the word was indeed German and its meaning was delicate. Yes, the beautiful champagne glass was quite delicate and nearly fragile in its beauty. Now I was more curious than ever about the glass, the roll of film, and whomever had owned them. Determined to learn more, I dressed quickly and made my way to the camera shop, where I was assured the film could and would be developed by late that very same day.

I was a tangle of nerves as I waited throughout the day and more than anxious, especially after my vivid dreams. I wanted to see what secrets the film might possibly divulge. I busied myself by running errands and such, but still, the day dragged slowly by. Eventually, In the late afternoon, I found myself in a small café near the camera shop, sipping an expresso and nibbling a Madeleine cookie as I waited for the final hour to wind down.

More anxious than ever, quite possibly due to the three espressos I’d drunk, I made my way to the print shop an hour later. The woman behind the counter greeted me with an enthusiastic smile as the bell on the door signaled my arrival.

“Hello! The old film gave us a bit of trouble for a moment, but we managed to develop at least four decent photos from it,” she said proudly. “I think you will be most pleased once you see them.”

I nodded, expressed my gratitude, and paid the requested price, not even pausing to open the envelope of the photographs. Yes, I was very curious about its contents, but for some unfathomable reason, I wanted to wait until I was alone in the quiet of my home to see what the pictures showed.

“Do you not wish to see the pictures, my dear?” the sales woman asked as she watched me place the envelope in my purse.

“Yes, assuredly so, but I think I’ll wait until I’m home,” I replied without further explanation. However, her next words gave me slight pause.

“Well, I think you may be surprised when you do look at the photographs,” the woman smiled, an all-knowing gleam in her eyes. “Where did you say you found the roll of film?”

“In an old trunk I purchased at Adeline’s Antique Store. I appreciate your help,” I said again, exiting the shop. Whatever could the surprise be, I wondered? My curiosity was piqued beyond measure.

It was only a short while before I arrived home. I placed the unopened envelope from my purse on the sofa table before heading to the hutch to retrieve the delicate crystal glass. In the kitchen, I filled the special, apparently magic glass with a bit of bubbly champagne, more sure than ever there was cause for celebration because the film shop had been able to obtain at least four decent photographs from the old roll of film. Excitement coursed through me, and I did not even pause long enough to change my clothes or discard my shoes before heading back to the sofa, the filled champagne glass in hand.

I took a seat on the sofa and took a sip of champagne, feeling its bubbles tingle all the way to my toes. Taking a deep breath, I reached for the envelope. As I opened the end of it and gently shook it, the photographs spilled out, landing face down on the table.

Interesting, I thought. It was as if the photographs knew my anticipation and were delaying the surprise they provided. Surprise and a bit of disappointment filled my face as I flipped over the first photograph. It was a picture of a flower, a single lily in a porcelain bud vase. It was a nice photo, but not what I was expecting.

Hoping for something a bit more exciting, I reached to flip over the second photograph and then smiled. This one was of a young woman, maybe in her late twenties. She was lovely and dressed to the tens in a beautiful evening gown. She also wore a pair of evening gloves like the ones I’d found in the trunk. Were they in fact the same ones, I wondered? I quickly scanned the photograph, hoping to gain a glimpse of the little crystal glass, but it was nowhere to be seen. Whomever the young woman was, she had a brilliant smile and was obviously quite happy the evening the picture was taken. Had it been a beau who had taken the photo or just a friend? I would never really know the answer to these questions, but it was fun to wonder about such things.

Reaching over to the sofa table, I turned over the third photograph to find the same woman in it, but this time she was dressed more casually in a tailored suit and seated at a desk before a typewriter. Again, she was wearing a lovely smile and seemed pleased with whatever type of work she was doing. I wondered if she’d been a secretary and again wondered who had taken the photo. There were so many unanswered questions.

I reached for my champagne glass and took a large sip of the champagne before venturing forth to turn over the final photograph. Even though no picture thus far had included the special little glass, I was sure it was singularly exceptional in some fashion regardless if I learned more about it or not. I held my breath as I reached for the last photograph, unsure what story it might tell. As I turned it over, my breath caught in my throat and then I gasped in surprise at what – and who – I saw in the picture.

This photograph was the epitome of everything I had hoped to discover. In it, the same young woman was pictured, but this time she was standing with a man, but not just any man: it was F. Scott Fitzgerald. I had been an English major in college and a huge fan Fitzgerald’s work, so I immediately recognized him. He was just as brutally handsome in this photo as I’d thought him to be in any other picture I’d ever seen of him. The two were standing close, Fitzgerald's arm around the young woman and each held one of the delicate, little champagne glasses, precisely like the one from which I was currently drinking. The woman also held a book in her other hand. Was it the book that had been in the trunk, I wondered? It looked to be the same. Without delay, I retrieved the edition of The Beautiful and Damned from the depths of the trunk. I had barely taken notice of it the previous night, but now I wondered about it and why the owner had kept it alongside so many other treasured items. It was obvious that it was significant in some way, especially because it was in the old photograph with them.

I held the book and saw it was quite weathered and worn, as well as tattered at the edges. It was bound in blueish green cloth reminiscent of novels from the 1920s but still largely intact. A shiver ran through me as I held it; it was as if I knew what I would find once I opened it. With care, I turned the book’s cover to find an inscription on the right page just inside written in extraordinarily aged, brown ink, and with a delicious flair of a writing style seldom used these days. The inscription read: “For Miss Oehler – in memory of her patience with its wild manuscript, from F Scott Fitzgerald”.

I was stunned. The woman in the photos must have been Miss Oehler, whomever that might be. She had obviously been acquainted with F. Scott Fitzgerald in some capacity. Quickly, I went to my computer and did a Google search for Miss Oehler. Within moments, I easily learned only one fact about a Miss Oehler: she had been Fitzgerald’s typist on The Beautiful and Damned. Of a sudden, I knew without a doubt that the small champagne glass I had used this afternoon had been the one from which Fitzgerald had drunk in the picture. Indeed, the two had used the glasses to toast to his book’s publication as well as her contribution to it.

Shivers of delight encompassed me at the realization I held not only a first edition of a book with an original inscription by Fitzgerald to his typist, but I also held a glass from which he had once drunk to celebrate the book. I was stunned. Not only did I now know who had owned the champagne glass of which I had so vividly dreamt, but I also knew its story. Everything had merged together in a most unique fashion. This story was perfect and indeed, it was also “heikel” – or quite delicate - in its nature. I felt special to share in a small part of such a lovely story, and I knew I would always treasure what I had stumbled upon in that small antique store on a rainy afternoon.

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A long time has passed since my fortuitous purchase of $28.00 in Adeline’s Antique Store. I still have the beautifully etched champagne glass that so magically appeared in my dream as well as the first edition of The Beautiful and Damned with Fitzgerald's inscription, along with the photographs that complete their story. I will always be immensely thankful I listened to my instincts on that fateful day years ago. Despite many opportunities to sell both items, I have always declined for my unexpected and magical treasures are wort much more than money.